


Beginning Again

by sheafrotherdon



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Future Fic, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-13
Updated: 2013-10-13
Packaged: 2017-12-29 06:23:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,130
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1002029
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sheafrotherdon/pseuds/sheafrotherdon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They move in on a Wednesday, quickly filling the empty rooms with jumbled furniture and packing boxes – things meant for the kitchen ending up in the bedroom, things meant for the bedroom ending up in the garage.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Beginning Again

**Author's Note:**

  * For [amberlynne](https://archiveofourown.org/users/amberlynne/gifts).



They move in on a Wednesday, quickly filling the empty rooms with jumbled furniture and packing boxes – things meant for the kitchen ending up in the bedroom, things meant for the bedroom ending up in the garage. It's bedlam, with people coming and going, and the neighbors popping in to say hello. It's almost seven in the evening before Stiles can shut the door and turn the deadbolt, wander back to the kitchen and happily report, "They're gone."

"All of them?" asks Derek, who's putting away groceries, sandwiched between boxes and the island in the middle of the room. His hair's a mess from all the times he's run his hands through it during the day; he's trailing a piece of packing tape from one leg of his jeans.

"All of them," says Stiles and jumps up to sit on the island. "Every last one."

Derek sets down the coffee he's holding and sidles his way into the V of Stiles legs, hooks a hand around the back of Stiles' neck, and pulls him into a soft, sweet kiss. "I was going to kill someone," he says conversationally when they break apart.

"Scott or Isaac?" Stiles asks.

"Both," Derek says, and the corner of his mouth lifts.

"Well," says Stiles, grinning, cupping Derek's jaw between his hands, "I'm glad that didn't come to pass." He drops a kiss to Derek's forehead. "You smell good."

"I smell like sweat and dust and – "

"Good," Stiles says again, leaning back in for another kiss. This one is hotter, a little more urgent, and Stiles makes a soft noise at the back of his throat. "You know what we should do?" he asks.

"Hmmm?" asks Derek, who's nosing at Stiles' throat.

"Celebrate," Stiles says, humming when Derek licks a path to his ear. 

"Celebrate?" Derek repeats.

"On every surface in the house," Stiles whispers, and he feels dizzily happy when Derek laughs.

"That could be more than a night's work," Derek offers, ducking in to steal a quick kiss, pulling away.

"So let's start right here, see how far we get," Stiles says, leaning back on his hands. He quirks an eyebrow. "You in?"

Derek slips both hands under Stiles' shirt, lifts it off and throws it aside. "Sure," he says easily, and Stiles' heart squeezes and swoops at how comfortable this is. Derek noses at his belly, drops kisses beside his hip, noses the hair just above Stile's fly, and Stiles feels his dick twitch and begin to fill, hums his agreement as Derek unbuttons his jeans and unzips his zipper, drops his head to lick at Stiles through the fabric of his shorts.

"Jesus," Stiles says, hips bucking, and he moans softly as Derek frees his cock, licks his palm and jerks Stiles to full stiffness. It's not nearly contact enough, and Stiles shifts his hips, presses up into Derek's hand. "Tease," he says, and his voice isn't altogether steady.

"Tease, huh?" says Derek, and he smiles before he drops his head and takes Stiles into his mouth.

It's fantastic, the enveloping heat, the pressure of Derek's tongue, the way he _looks_ , Stile's cock slipping easily between his lips. Stiles fumbles a hand to press it against Derek's cheek, to feel the shape of himself in Derek's mouth. He shivers hard as Derek tongues his slit, grazes Derek's bottom lip with his thumb, has to tear his hand away to hold himself up while Derek works. It's the world's biggest turn on, to watch Derek's face, to feel the slick welcome of his mouth, and Stiles whines needily, has to close his eyes to gain a little self control. It's a losing battle – Derek wraps his hand around the base of Stiles' cock and makes pleased little sounds every time Stiles' twitches or shakes. "Derek," Stiles manages, and he's breathless, feels like he's flushed from head to toe, like he's still 16, not 23. "I'm not going to last."

Derek hums happily and redoubles his efforts; Stiles jackknifes, the muscles in his abdomen contracting and releasing, his orgasm building low and desperate at the base of his spine. 

"Derek," Stiles mumbles. He means it as a warning, but it ends up it's all he can manage – a soft repetition of Derek's name as Derek sucks him off. His balls tighten; he feels like his body can't contain all this pressure, all this want. And then – "Oh, _god_ ," – he's coming, bucking his hips and emptying himself into Derek's mouth, making noises that would be embarrassing if he even passingly cared. His arms buckle and he lies back against the countertop, chest heaving as Derek pulls off and looks down at him, wiping a bead of come from the corner of his mouth.

"You are a _menace_ ," says Stiles weakly.

Derek looks pleased with himself, undoes his own belt and fly, pulls himself out from his boxer briefs with a sigh of relief. "Just lie there," he says, smearing pre-come down his cock, jerking himself roughly as Stiles watches.

Stiles is in no shape to do much but exactly what Derek asks, but he pushes himself up on his elbows, licks his lips as he watches the show. "God, that's hot," he says, still breathless. "You're so hot." Derek grunts in response, hand moving faster, and Stiles feels his muscles tremble with an interest he's no hope of acting on for another half an hour. "Yeah," he says, instead, knowing how Derek likes the sound of his voice. "Come on. Come on me. Derek, I want it . . . "

Derek's hips snap forward and he groans brokenly, striping Stiles' belly with his come. Stiles lets out a shaking breath, manages, "God, _yes_ ," before Derek slumps and catches himself with his unused hand.

Derek looks up through his lashes, and Stiles' dick twitches feebly at the sight. "Good?" Derek asks, and Stiles pushes himself up again, sways into Derek's body and kisses him sloppily, a graceless, happy tangle of tongues and press of lips.

"Good," Stiles says, and he wonders if someone tore the plastic covering off the couch, left it ready for them to collapse on together. "So good."

Derek ducks his head and smiles, looks up again a second later and says, "You think there are paper towels?"

And Stiles laughs at them both, at the mess on his stomach, at the ridiculousness of hoping they'll find something to clean him up before things get gross. "Pass my shirt," he says, and swipes it over himself, wiping himself clean before he presses in close to Derek, wrapping his arms around him, feeling Derek's arms wind round him in return.

"Welcome home," Derek says softly.

"Best home ever," Stiles murmurs back, and rests for a minute with his head on Derek's shoulder. The boxes can wait.


End file.
